


Outlawed

by Jazzily



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Detective AU, M/M, consultant! akira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzily/pseuds/Jazzily
Summary: What would happen if Akira started overshadowing the famous Detective Prince Akechi ? The young detective consultant earned his way into the best of Tokyo’s police forces, and soon they must learn to make do with each other so they may work together. But what if Akira had a secret ?What if... Akechi started taking on his case ?“All of this is routine. A comfortable, well-deserved routine. Akira Kurusu has no right to come here and ruin his hard work.Tomorrow afternoon? He’ll be out of his sight.Akechi downs his burning coffee without a blink.”
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 27
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

The day just started and Akechi is already tired of it.

Struggling to not clench his creamed coffee cup between his gloved hands, he drops his briefcase on his desk. It’s pristine, almost empty even, except for one carefully chosen framed picture of classmates he barely knows, and visibly fancy fountain pens. You can sometimes see open files scattered on it, with flashy post-its filled with a cute rushed handwriting, pleading him to remember important clues.

The perfect picture of the perfect detective.

It’s not by chance that Goro Akechi became the famous Detective Prince and no one knows it except himself. His smile tightens at the thought : he’ll gladly take this information to his grave.

In the meantime, Akechi sweeps a new file only recently assigned to him after greeting some co-workers who passed by. Some of them (and by some of them, he means the _Niijima sisters_ ) mutter a concise and polite “Good Morning” accompanied with a brief nod before walking swiftly to their own desks ; while others (and by others, really, he means _Yuuki Mishima_ ) don’t show any decency and have the gall to loudly salute him and skip to their tasks. On a Monday, of all days.

Akechi keeps smiling.

Even his discouraged sigh is rehearsed, perfected in front of his bathroom mirror for months. Loud enough to be noticed yet discreet enough to not bother anyone. Long enough to express an easy-to-overcome challenge yet short enough to not be overdramatic or worrying. He takes a look at the file between his fingers, and sips at his beverage. It’s too hot and he burns his lips, but he doesn’t falter. _Fuck_.

The case is fairly simple, it’s just a plain bank robbery. There are three masked suspects, armed with small, easily acquirable guns. They are clearly rookies at this whole crime thing, because according to the witnesses’ statements, the robbers were extremely stressed themselves. Their grip on their weapons were trivial, their fingers indecisively hovering over the trigger : they clearly didn’t want nor plan to harm anyone. The employees complied obediently and gave them the exact amount of money they wanted. The robbers shakily checked the sum and fled by foot. It’s a miracle they haven’t been apprehended earlier.

It’s not anything worthy of his Detective Prince title, so should he even bother?

Akechi is about to get up, throw this file onto the dizzying pile of abandoned cases’, fittingly settled on a forlorn desk, but stops dead in his tracks. Instead he turns to the person fidgeting silently next to him and can’t help the skeptic stare he sends him. Although he does manages to soften it with his ever-so-bright lasting smile. Why he’s still here is a wonder to him.

“What do you think about this case, Kurusu-kun?”

Akira Kurusu is the type of person that could either make you swoon immediately or make you want to avoid him as much as possible. It depends on whether or not you have taste. Akechi obviously does, that’s why he tried his best to ignore his heavy presence near him.

While Akechi is seated on his chair, Kurusu is leaning against his desk, the distance between his arm and Akechi’s shoulder almost imaginary. Does this guy know anything about _personal space_? 

Akechi’s grin widens.

“Oh, um…” he starts, already pulling out his hand from his pocket to play with his hair. “I’d say it’s a pretty open and shut case, don’t you think?”

Kurusu looks down at him, his glasses shielding Akechi from his gray analysing gaze. In response, Akechi finds the will to pleasantly chuckle.

“I think so too, Kurusu-kun,” he replies sweetly, his usually cynical voice warmed by his coffee. “Say, why don’t we start with this, then?”

Akira Kurusu has been freshly hired to be a consultant. Here, in Tokyo’s most prestigious police precinct. With the best detectives. And not any consultant, _no_ , he’s supposed to be Akechi’s, of all people.

The lucky man is just out of college and has been immediately offered a job.

Here.

Why, you ask? Because he’s been recommended by the _oh-so-great_ prosecutor Sadayo Kawakami, of course!

Apparently, she was one of his college teachers and he was one of her favorite students. Apparently, he helped her solve a big case. And _apparently_ Kurusu is now Akechi’s problem.

Not for long, if he has a say in this.

See, Goro Akechi is perfect in everything. Every tiny little detail, from his work ethic to the lazy outfits he throws on himself when he goes outside on a week-end. And perfection doesn’t need a bonus. Perfection can work alone just fine. A bonus to perfection would only be less than perfect.

And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?

“Sure, it seems simple enough,” is his colleague’s only response. Akechi gets up from his chair, taking one more sip of his coffee, finishing it. He gently tosses the cup in a close trash can and beams at him.

“Well, good luck with that! I expect it to be resolved by tomorrow afternoon. You can do that, right, Kurusu-kun?”

Either he gets this trash consultant fired, or he’ll make him regret he was even born. He crinkles his eyes playfully at Kurusu’s alarmed ones.

“What do you mean, ' _expect_ '?”

“Haha. Don’t you know what the word ' _expect_ ' means? I hope your limited vocabulary won’t be a nuisance to your task!”

He pats him on his shoulder amiably and thanks the lord he’s wearing gloves. He’ll need to wash them later, just to be sure.

“I have to go take care of another important case. Good luck, Kurusu-kun! I hope you won’t disappoint me, okay?”

And off Akechi goes, a satisfied smile creeping its way on his lips while he heads to the coffee machine. There he finds Niijima Makoto, black coffee in her hand and judging gaze in her eyes, straight as an arrow. He doesn’t pay her any mind as he grabs another plastic cup.

“Don’t you think you’re being too harsh, Akechi-san?”

It’s none of her damn business, he wants to say.

“I just want to make sure he won’t be bothered by my workload is all, Niijima-san,” he settles for instead, putting on a courteous mask on his face.

He pushes a button, then another one. The coffee machine quivers sonorously in return. He closes his eyes, making sure to sag his eyebrows empathetically.

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t understand now, would you? Your workload must be lighter. Lucky you…”

He senses her body’s flinch but she doesn’t say anything. He assumes she takes a defensive stance, ready to protect herself, except Akechi won't bite. He opens his eyes and seizes his new cup.

Great, now she’ll get off his back for a while.

“Hey, at least I didn’t assign him a murder case, right?” He beams playfully, then adds “See you !”

All of this is routine. A comfortable, _well-deserved_ routine. Akira Kurusu has no right to come here and ruin his hard work.

Tomorrow afternoon? He’ll be out of his sight.

Akechi downs his burning coffee without a blink.

***

He doesn't care about Kurusu at all. Really, he’s just a bug he needs to get rid of in his grand, magnificent, planned-out life.

But to do that, he needs to learn more about him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer is how the saying goes. Great, because Akechi had no friends and only one enemy at the moment. How convenient.

So, Akechi forces himself to think that... this is the sole and only reason why he’s following his sorry excuse of a consultant at only 9 AM.

It has nothing to do with the fact that the Detective Prince is curious about his methods. He’s the Detective Prince, after all. The Detective Prince, the perfect Goro Akechi, isn't… _intrigued_ by some nobody who got lucky and helped a common prosecutor.

Akira Kurusu, he learns the hard way, is a peculiar person. Akechi, hidden behind an old brick wall, observes him as he enters the little café. The bell chimes, the door closes and a light, warm scent of coffee escapes from inside, reaching Akechi’s nose. After he drank two cups of coffee not an hour ago, he assumed that he wouldn’t want a third one. He was wrong.

Kurusu doesn’t seem like he’s going back outside, so Akechi dares to step a little closer to the glass door. He cautiously makes his way over to where the owner (he presumes) puts cast-off boxes and crates. From there, he can get access to a better view of the café.

Inside, Kurusu is arguing with the barista, a man, probably in his late 50’s. Arguing is actually too strong of a word ; Kurusu is almost throwing a tantrum, expressive body set into a whining pose, as the older man is clearly unimpressed. After half a minute of exaggerated gesticulations, Kurusu surrenders, shoulders slouching in defeat. After another half a minute of grumbling, he reaches into his coat’s pocket to drop a miserable sum of money on the counter. The barista smiles smugly and disappears to prepare him his drink. Kurusu leans his back against the counter like he owns the place and starts scrolling lazily on his phone.

He can’t believe it.

He leaves his consultant alone for a mission, and he already loses almost an hour for coffee. He could have used the machine on their floor. He could have gone to any other café near the precinct, hell, he could have _not_ argued like a child with the barista.

Akechi’s smile never leaves his lips as he takes out his small notebook and starts scribbling.

He might not have to intervene at all. The idiot is stabbing his own back.

He tucks his notebook away, just as Kurusu’s low voice mutters goodbyes to the barista. The bell chimes in response.

Akechi quickly disappears into the dark shadow the crates envelop him in. For a soon-to-be-detective, Kurusu doesn’t notice a thing. Instead, he readjusts his bag, slowly cracks his neck in every possible angle and heads the opposite way. Akechi sighs gratefully, a hoarse sound slipping out of his mouth. Huh. That was not very Detective Prince-y of him.

Perhaps should he start practicing it again? It’s not like he has anything better to do after work.

It’s only when Kurusu is about to leave his eyesight when taking a turn, that he decides to follow him again. After all, he had still been assigned to this case. It’s only his responsibility to make sure his new colleague is perfect for the job.

His new colleague is nothing but utter garbage.

He has to admit it, if Kurusu is good at something, it’s impressing Akechi by his outstanding slacking-off. Kurusu drags his feet on the pavement, ruining his elegant shoes. He manages to continue his walk with his hunched back which doesn’t have any reason to be so. _His bag isn't even that heavy_. And it just strikes Akechi how much Kurusu’s attitude contrasts with his looks. 

If he stood a little bit straighter, a little bit prouder, he would be dashing, maybe breath-taking. With half of his raven curls slicked-back, his almond gray eyes covered by long eyelashes and thin crooked glasses, his tanned skin wearing fashionable yet professional attire, Akira Kurusu would be the perfect man to play a young billionaire in those incredibly cheesy rom-coms. At this thought, Akechi’s mind is (thankfully) flooded by Kurusu’s previous childish behaviour. He stifles a snort.

What a shame.

The man finally considers appropriate to pull the file out of his not-heavy bag and read it. He never stops walking and always finds a way to avoid passersby in front of him. Akechi follows and starts fiddling with his phone so he can have a reason to keep his head low. His steps start to match Kurusu’s, falling silent in the middle of the street noise. He can only distinguish the loud sound that the rustling of papers makes, as he messily tries to decipher what is printed on them.

They go on like this, Akechi mindlessly scrolling on his phone and Kurusu turning page after page, for about fifteen minutes and three turns. Then-

_SUKI SUKI DAISUKI_

_DOKI DOKI TOMALANAINO_

“Yes, hello,” Kurusu has the audacity to answer seriously. Akechi’s mouth would have dropped if he wasn’t used to his other colleagues’ antics already.

What. Was. That.

“Ah yes. Yeah, it rang.”

Kurusu rearranges his bag _yet again_ , manages to close the file without letting his phone fall from his grip. He turned his face around for a second but thankfully, Akechi managed to retract behind the immaculate wall of a building. He lets his consultant go on ahead a bit before settling back on following him again. What even is he doing at this point?

“Heh, joke’s on you. I enjoy my ringtone. Your prank sucks, Navi.”

He adds some signs of agreement while nodding, even though his interlocutor can’t possibly see those -the idiot. He jumps from topic to topic, one never linked to the other. Some of those include computers (and very detailed mentions of computer parts that Akechi fails to remember), coffee (and every brooming technique, different types of beans and “is Sojiro okay?” He’s sure he caught an exaggerated snicker coming from the caller, immediately followed by Kurusu’s bumbling and strikingly high-pitched laughter. The only not shocking fact is how annoying it sounds.), and finally _something about delicious pancakes_.

“Oh! Are you still convinced that the best ship is Yellow Owl and Red Hawk? Because I’d like to suggest a better opinion than yours.”

Akechi wishes he was dead. And by he, he means _that_ _sorry excuse of a human being_.

“Hey _excuse you_ , the best ship is Red Hawk and Grey Pigeon. And I’m not the only one thinking that, it’s the most popular one for a reason!”

A pause. Then, he splutters.

“What do you _mean_ I’m mainstream? How dare you?”

Akechi makes the wise decision to let Kurusu’s conversation fall into background noise as he looks around at their surroundings. The streets are still filled with passersby but less of them look like stuck-up businessmen, they seem more like college students who range in very opposite spots in the spectrum. He notices college kids who couldn’t be bothered less about life itself: wearing flashy outfits that don’t match, sometimes even slippers. Others, who look flawlessly put together (he’d be extremely picky if he tried to look for imperfections), are busy studying on their way to class. He closes his eyes for a second and soon enough, the distinct smell of curry and fresh bread reaches his nose, forcing him to search for where it comes from. He's greeted with the blue calming sign of a bakery.

 _Utopia_ .

Not a lot of customers seem to be inside, though, so he ultimately decides not to give it the time of day. He focuses back on Kurusu who hid his phone yet is somehow, _somehow_ talking to a black cat tucked into his not-heavy bag (which now apparently has a valid reason to be deemed heavy).

“So, which ship d’you prefer, Mona?”

The cat meows back. Kurusu gasps.

“You traitor. I’ll never let you sleep over at Navi’s again.”

He is chatting... with his cat.

That’s it.

Akechi is done.

* * *

Okay, so maybe Mona was too much, Akira thinks while petting his cat one last time, before he retreats back into his bag. But the guy deserved it after all, he was being extremely noisy. And not the most discreet stalker either, for that part Akira isn’t sure if he should be disappointed or relieved. For a detective, he sure is overconfident.

And yet, Akechi is still behind him. He could feel his frustration from miles away and if he wasn’t already used to Futaba’s bugs stalking him at Leblanc, he would probably shiver.

As much as annoying the hell out of his new co-worker (superior?) is fun, the most important thing remains solving this case for tomorrow. He managed to send pictures of the case file to his sister who immediately screamed that she was on it and hung up on him. So that’s good, he supposes.

He settles on stopping in his tracks, putting himself aside to not bother anyone on the sidewalk, and look for the most efficient itinerary to the bank that’s been robbed recently, waiting for news from Futaba. After enabling his position and allowing the app to track him, he scrolls down the list of different paths suggested to him. He finds a fairly simple one that he keeps in mind as Mona comes out of the bag once again. He glances at his big blue eyes and sighs in defeat.

To entertain him, Akira exits the map app and taps one of his social media ones. He brings his phone closer for the cat to see, his pet wriggles near. He looks for the funniest posts, especially the ones involving animals and always waits a solid twenty seconds before going onto the next one. Since Mona stays still and didn’t already hide back into his bag, he guesses that he’s enjoying it.

People walking by and (mostly) Akechi stare at him like he grew a second head. Considering Morgana’s face just popped right next to his, maybe they’re right, maybe he _did_ grow a second head. Nevertheless, a brief look over his shoulder tells him the detective looks like he’s about to explode. So the sacrifice is all worth it.

He might be playing with fire, he might get fired after his very first day and Akechi’s smile might be changing into a rictus, but it’s all worth it.

He receives a notification that his thumb taps quickly.

**Gremlin**

youre in luck guess who was modeling with her gf on the day of the robbery

**Akira**

seriously?????? where were they

**Gremlin**

2 streets away from the bank n it was in the robbers escape route

**Akira**

oh boy this is gonna be a field day. ok i’ll meet up with them

**Gremlin**

already ahead of ya dude

theyre with ryuji too n i told them to meet you in front of the bank

**Akira**

!!!! great thx!

**Gremlin**

i know im amazing

He turns his phone off, shoos Morgana into his carrier. He steals one last peek at the detective and immediately starts running towards the bank. He feels his cat struggle to stay put and hidden, his bag kicking him in the back. It’s fine, he’ll survive. What won’t survive are the tight pants he’s wearing : he’ll be lucky not to rip them. He really hopes he won’t rip them. Ann already warned him about this, she’s gonna scold him for sure if something happens to those pants. He’s glad he’s at least wearing a long overcoat. Worst comes to worst, if the pants do rip, it won’t be too obvious.

Hopefully.

While managing not to bump into anyone in the street, he can’t check if Akechi is following him but he must be. Either that, or he gave up and honestly, both of those are funny enough to him. He doesn’t hear anyone running right behind him so Akechi is either really good at controlling his breathing or he is an alien. He’s not going to lie, the latter seems highly probable.

He directs his attention back into his path and prays that he’s not getting himself lost because if he is, and in front of Akechi, that’s going to be a blow to his guts. Mona and Futaba would never let him live this down. If he remembers well, he only has one turn left, right by a small cozy shop. Its bright red front and incredibly blue door don’t fail to catch Akira’s attention who skids and stops running the very next second. 

Adopting a nonchalant attitude, hands buried into his pockets, he’s tempted to exaggeratedly whistle his way to his friends. He doesn’t do that, _obviously_ , because he won’t waste his breath on acting like a cartoon character. But he _has_ been tempted. Twenty steps in and the sound of someone braking behind him in a panic almost makes him snicker. Apparently Akechi did bolt right after him. And Akechi is, in fact, an alien.

From where he is, he can already spot Ann and Ryuji’s bright blonde hair, accompanied by a shorter brunette. They wave at him. He bounces a bit in his steps and waves back. Mona hisses, he is pretty sure that Akechi isn’t being family friendly in the back. He doesn’t fight a smile.

Serves him right.

“Yo dude!” exclaims Ryuji who runs up to him. Ann and Shiho follow suit, bright smiles plastered on their faces.

He greets Ryuji back and hugs all three of them. They exchange pleasantries for some minutes, just enough to share what's been happening through the week. Then, they start discussing the robbery.

“So, Futaba told me you guys could have seen the robbers?”

“Don’t count me in, man. Wasn’t with them,” adds Ryuji briefly. He mimics Akira’s casual stance and settles next to him, facing the couple.

“Yes, Ann had a photoshoot the day of the robbery. I was with her, looking after her belongings. Then three men dashed through the street, they even almost crashed onto one of the photographers.”

Akira takes notes on his phone, sending all of the testimonies to Futaba, both making sure that he can’t lose them and that she can look up potential suspects.

“Yeah. One of them had ripped jeans,” begins Ann cheerfully, holding her boba. “And one of the photographs cried something like ‘he cut it himself, he did such a poor job, what a mess!’ You should’ve seen the guy, he was almost crying because of his jeans.”

“Okay, so terrible fashion sense is noted. Anything else? Anything that stood out like…” Akira pauses for a second. What is he supposed to ask exactly? “Heights?”

“Oh! They were all pretty tall, like maybe even taller than you!”

Shiho nods, readjusting her backpack on her jacket.

“They were also very lanky, maybe skin-and-bones, to be honest. I don’t know where they found the stamina to rob a bank…”

She hums mindfully, then she carries on.

“Do you think they’re eating well?”

“Dude, are you seriously worried over thieves?” Ryuji asks, exasperated. Ann bickers back to defend Shiho who chooses to ignore them and continues, clasping her hands together.

“Also! Something pretty important is that one of them stopped for a sec to take off his hood-”

“For real?! The dumbass-”

“And I think he had something like three days of stubble on his face? Something like that. And a thin scar on his lower lip,” she points at her own lip, showing in a small movement of her finger how big the scar must be. She then adds as an afterthought: “They didn’t look very proper, in general.”

“Shiho, they’re robbers, they’re not supposed to look proper.”

“Damn, terrible robbers too. I swear we’d be better criminals than them anytime, right Akira?” 

Ann elbows him so he doesn’t have to and she turns back to him with another big smile. He returns a thankful look. No wonder she’s been modeling since high school. Her pale face covered with just the right amount of rosy make-up contrasts perfectly with her big blue eyes and long blond hair. It seems like Shiho caught the jackpot. Her girlfriend’s beaming face never ceases to force a smile on his own lips.

“Thanks for your help guys! Futaba and I are on the case. It’s pretty lucky that you of all people witnessed that,” he says, eyeing Ryuji who’s now poking at his bag to annoy Mona and avoid any consequences. He chuckles at that.

“Oh _please_ ,” Ann groans, slouching her shoulder just like she always does when next to him. “If we weren’t there, you could have always asked your weird hungry friend.”

“Excuse you, he’s _our_ weird hungry friend and he’s got a name.”

“I might use it if he stops asking me to pose for him. Nude.”

“Aw, Ann, are you embarrassed? Your, um… ‘weird hungry friend’ might have noticed how pretty you are!”

“Not you too, Shiho!”

He laughs again and escapes Ryuji’s grip. He waves all of them goodbye but only Ryuji waves back. The girls are too busy arguing, with Ann lightly smacking Shiho’s arm before sliding her hand in hers. He enters the bank.

The employees don’t look very welcoming and he can’t really blame them for that. They weren’t working previously, instead, he found them all talking to each other in a messy circle of people. When he clears his throat, they turn around and study him wearily. He promptly shows them his consultant card.

“Hello, my name is Akira Kurusu. I’m the consultant who is in charge of your case.”

A kind smile, a faint crinkle of eyes and a soft voice are enough to make all of them swoon and approach him without any more second thoughts. No wonder they got robbed so easily, a bit of charm is all it took.

One of the receptionists -a woman in her thirties- stands straight, professional pleasant face on, and wonders loudly how she can help him. He replies with the same questions he asked his friends, interrogating her in detail. Soon, curious co-workers join her and also serve as witnesses.

They confirm Ann and Shiho’s testimonies, adding some more pieces of information, like what kind of shoes one of the robbers wore, what kind of vibes they gave off, guessing their star sign (if that could be considered a piece of information.) “Geminis are the ones most likely to commit a crime,” to which he nods very gravely.

**Akira**

apparently we’re looking for three geminis

that’s it we have the most important info

**Gremlin**

lmao lemme check their horoscope for today

He bites back a grin, focuses on listening intently to what everyone has to say. Nothing else noteworthy comes up, so naturally, he asks about the security cameras. The woman who spoke first warns him about the poor quality of the cameras. They already checked but it looks like they didn’t get enough out of those. He shrugs and doesn’t falter. He asks again, the woman has no choice but to sigh, tuck a brown strand of hair behind her ear and oblige.

“Follow me, please.”

He does as asked and once in the room, doesn’t bother to sit on the comfortable chair facing the video surveillance. Instead, he bends down, types the date of the crime, looks for the video and watches.

There wasn’t much chaos. Three tall kids come wobbling to the scene, small guns held by big hands. There is no sound so he can’t count on recognizing their voices. They seem like they’re shouting something at the employees who obey them immediately, yet don’t look very scared. They give them the money, the kids don’t bother checking if the amount they asked for is right and they escape the establishment with comically long steps.

“For how much did they ask, again?”

“It was a very specific sum. ¥158 175 to be precise.”

“That _is_ oddly specific,” he agrees in thought.

The money is most definitely not for them, then. Who would settle for such an amount, why not ask for more? For an easier number, with zeros, and not sevens or eights.They must be trying to pay off a loan, so they must be in debt. Which means they either are in some deep, deep trouble with a loan shark, or they lost money in gambling. There could be other issues, like owing money to a certain individual however, he chooses to investigate the former matters first. They sound easier to deal with… somehow.

He notices that what the video surveillance doesn’t give in quality, it provides in scale: it’s marked around the corner of the dusty screen. Kawakami's second rule comes back to him. "In police work, every single skill counts." He never doubted her but he is very happy to see that her advice can come in handy now. He is also terribly grateful that he didn’t sleep (too much) through math classes, unlike Ryuji.

A quick rule of three would be easy to use and would give him the answers he wants.

“Excuse me, do you know what your height is?"

The employee stares at him blankly.

"No, I am not flirting with you,” he adds in a hurry at her confused look.

“I- I didn’t assume that- but… somewhere around 5'2”?”

“Perfect.”

He quickly does the math and it turns out he was right, it _does_ give him something to work from. A pretty reduced range of heights for the three suspects that he immediately shares with Futaba. He was about to type everything out but pauses when he finds a text she sent him while he was busy.

**Gremlin**

“ _This day brings a tremendous amount of power and opportunity to your doorstep._

_Get up early and get right to work. Ideas and people who cross your path will prove to be invaluable resources._

_Keep a notebook handy at all times. Success is at hand._ ”

**Gremlin**

apparently theyre gonna destroy you lol

**Gremlin**

“success is at hand” sucks to be you ig

**Akira**

oh don’t worry i found something pretty useful

**Gremlin**

i guess they didn’t keep a notebook handy at all times then :(

He sends the remaining informations on the suspects to his sister, who exasperatedly pretends that she’s doing all of the work, yet ends up going MIA when he lets her know that she doesn’t have to help him. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t have much to do and is absolutely excited to do some police work with him. Admittedly, the only thing close to polars and crime mysteries she has ever shown interest in is _Detective Conan_ but, if she’s helpful, you won’t catch him complaining.

He is fairly certain that she will message him the name of at least one of the men in less than half an hour, that’s why he’s already turning back on his heels, on his way to drop by the precinct. He’s surprised to see Akechi didn’t have quick enough reflexes to hide before his eyes fell on him but he plays dumb and ignores him. He walks lazily from where he came from, again hoping that he’s not going to get lost on the way back because what a shame it would be. He’s looking super cool in front of the detective, he won’t waste it now.

Worst comes to worst, Futaba will probably guide him back, right? She’s not that heartless.

He hums to himself the opening of the Featherman series in the middle of the now empty streets. It’s almost noon, everyone who’s supposed to be at work or in class is there. Only old people or rare parents with young kids are outside, but it’s rare to stumble upon them.

He soon enough hears another voice hum with him for maybe three seconds tops before it abruptly stops. He doesn’t turn around to confirm his suspicions but, really, only one other man his age is in the area, so only one person could have sung it. He bites off a snarky remark last minute. He instead closes his eyes, tries to forget about it and continues humming. If Akechi wants to join him again, he can be his guest.

He keeps on singing softly for about ten more minutes, then his phone buzzes. He’s got a name.

A sly grin creeps onto his face. Off to the office he goes.

***

Using a computer to look up his prime suspect proves harder than he expected. He doesn’t have an assigned desk yet, so he needs to use someone else’s. Obviously not Akechi’s, even though it would be, in a normal setting, the logical choice.

He knows that he met this Mishima guy only earlier today and yet he’s convinced that if he could, he would let him use his computer. And his phone. And his belongings in general. He would probably let him steal his life and Mishima would be thankful. Alas, the poor guy is only a new intern, so he doesn’t have much to give. His only role, apparently, is to be a push-over and serve people coffee.

Akira might help him grow out of that if he can.

Another co-worker he met today is Makoto Niijima. Who he shouldn’t confuse with Sae Niijima, her older sister. He chatted with both of them for a bit, but talked a bit more to Makoto who decided to do a good deed and offered him directions when Akechi failed to. Hence why asking Makoto to lend him her computer is, really, the only choice given to him. He already prepared a list of reasons as to why she should humor him, and that he could help her with paperwork in exchange, but she accepts immediately. He squints his eyes at her questioningly. Suspicious.

“Akechi-san doesn’t seem like he wants to help you. Someone has to let you do your job.”

Makoto is an angel on earth who he genuinely thinks no one deserves. He smiles at her and thanks her before she grants him access to her computer.

Figuring out how to look for Akagi Shigeru’s criminal record isn’t easy. Akira feels like one of those old people who doesn’t know how to use new technology as he gazes at the screen, lost. He ends up dropping his head in defeat when Makoto sighs and pushes him slightly to look it up herself.

Her hands move fast and efficiently over the keyboard. She taps on every key loudly, she might as well be punching them. It strikes Akira that she may be in a hurry, seeing as it's lunch break. He should probably apologize to her. After all, she’s acting as more of a mentor than Akechi.

Is it too late to ask to switch partners?

“Akagi Shigeru, right? I found him.”

At that, Akira perks up.

“What does it say?”

She stares at him for a bit before turning the computer screen towards him so he can read.

Underage gambling.

Perfect.

He would kiss Makoto on her two cheeks if he wasn’t terrified of the consequences. Instead, he settles on grinning brightly and shaking her hand.

“You’re a life-saver, Niijima-san!”

He thinks she might have tried to say something but it’s too late: he’s already rushing out of their office towards the elevator, his shoes sliding on the floor-

-before getting right back in.

He forgot something.

He immediately gets back to her, backwards as to not immediately face her. She might be kind but Makoto and her sister are both terribly intimidating.

“Did you forget something?”

Why, yes detective, he did. He eyes the abandoned desk full of files and crumpled papers. He turns around.

“Mind if I borrow some of these?” He asks as lightly as possible. “You said they were abandoned cases, right?”

“More like _untouched_ ," she sighs pitifully. "But yes. If you had not taken that robbery one, Akechi-san would have most likely thrown it there.”

“Is that so?" He pauses just long enough to let her nod. "So I take it that it doesn't bother you if I do? Of course I’ll have them returned by tomorrow. I just want to take a quick look after work.”

She observes him and narrows her eyes, which are almost the same wine color as Akechi’s. Though she is a tad less intimidating, Akira still doesn’t want to be on her bad side. They stay silent for a moment, staring at each other. Akira is about to clasp his hands together in a pleading stance before she sighs and fails to hide a smile.

“Yes you can. No one needs those anyway. Just return them soon in case we need to archive them.”

“Will do! Thank you again Niijima-san!”

“I’m just glad to see someone wants to take their job seriously here,” she replies with a hint of relief.

Akira leaves the room, for real, this time.

_She has no idea._

***

That will probably disappoint his new friend but going to a bar at barely 3PM isn’t considered “taking his job seriously” is it?

“It’s been so long Akira! Look at that, you’re taller than me!” The woman sitting beside him exclaims, and he releases a gasp when she hits his back playfully.

“Yes, yes Ohya, he’s always been taller than you,” says a raspy voice.

Akira looks at Lala-chan, smiling fondly at them. She stopped scolding him every time she noticed him when he became an adult. A small glass of water in front of him and Ohya clinging all over his shoulders, Akira can’t help but still feel like a child. He can hardly consider all three of them as adults, even though the most childish one of the group certainly isn’t him.

“So what are you doing here, kid? I don’t usually see you by daylight.”

He takes a sip of water, putting away his glass in a loud clang, as if he’s been drinking something heavier. He joins his fingers and faces Lala-chan.

“Do you know some guy named Akagi Shigeru?”

She looks right back at him, puzzled. He fights off Ohya’s weight on him to pull out a picture from his criminal record.

“Do you recognize him at all?”

“Oh, yeah, I know that kid alright.”

He takes out his phone and starts texting Futaba every important information of Lala-chan’s testimony. She starts by saying that she often saw him hanging out in Shinjuku with his friends. While Shinjuku isn’t the best place for minors to be in, it isn’t technically illegal for them, especially if they don’t come wearing their school uniforms. So she couldn’t say a thing. Other times she noticed him walking by, counting bills in his hand and chuckling. Once, more recently this time, he even got here already drunk, and shouted that he needed money, asking every customer who dared meet his eyes. Lala-chan had to shoo him herself, and at that Akira shudders. He wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. Bothering Lala-chan is _not_ on his bucket list.

“Oh yeah! I saw him too lately!”

They both turn towards Ohya. Her red nose and cheeks definitely tell that she’s got too much to drink, but her big sparkling eyes are more interesting to Akira. He turns his whole body towards her, offering her his attention.

“It wasn’t here, obviously. But… But I think he was super sad! The guy was walking a bit like you Akira, except he didn’t look all charming while doing it. More like a kicked puppy.”

Is that a ...compliment?

“He was right outside of a casino. He was muttering to himself stuff like... he doesn’t know how to get it all back and- And he looked so sad! ‘Was about to offer him a drink, to be honest.”

“You barely have enough to pay one for yourself,” Lala-chan interrupts her sternly. Ohya makes a sorry face, which comes off more as silly than anything.

“Yeah, please keep your money,” he adds, typing furiously everything on his phone.

“Oh so I take it you don’t want me to offer you drinks anymore?”

He pauses to look up at her. He gazes at the other customers and thinks for a second, a neutral expression over his face.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Too late now! Your favorite journalist will stop all of her favors from now on! Guh-”

“That’ll teach you to drink and act like you’re still a teenager,” Lala-chan huffs and Akira can’t help but agree.

“Is that all, Lala-chan?”

She dries up some glasses, focused on making them shine. He wonders how she can keep working long hours with her traditional outfit. He asked at some point, he thinks, and her only reply was that she likes working and looking pretty while doing it. Her outfit does suit her very well so he had nothing to say to that.

“Yes, boy, I’m sorry I can’t help more but I’ll make sure to let you know if I learn anything else,” she assures, her hair strands concealing her eyes.

“Oh, me too Akira, me too! I’ll def’ let you know if I learn anything!”

He grins warmly.

“I’m counting on you, then.”

He doesn’t count on her, but she doesn’t need to know that. He gets up and catches his bag swiftly. If Morgana yelps at the movement, he doesn’t hear him.

He thanks Lala-chan again and waves at the journalist, who’s too busy struggling not to puke to wave back, and exits the bar.

He almost crashes into Akechi in front of the door but the latter immediately walks away like a busy passerby. A frown makes its way up to his lips. He’s barely trying anymore. Either he tired himself out after following him all day, or he thinks he’s too much of an idiot to even notice that.

He’ll keep acting like an idiot, he supposes, even though he’s pretty sure Futaba thinks he already is one.

Hands in his pockets, he makes his way back to Leblanc for his evening shift and prays that Morgana isn’t crumpling any of the case files he stuffed in his bag. He wouldn’t want to break Makoto’s trust anymore than he already does.

His phone buzzes twice.

**Gremlin**

yo dude i found his uni

**Akira**

!!!!

**Akira**

ok quick!!! what’s his major

**Gremlin**

_Gremlin sent you an address._

**Gremlin**

finance lmao

**Akira**

lmao he can barely manage his own money smh

He switches to his other notification.

**Loudmouth**

okokokok i swEAR i’m noth drunke

**Akira**

sure you’re not

**Loudmouth**

lalachan justw anna make fun off emeeeeee:(

**Loudmouth**

ok listenn

**Akira**

I’m all ears

**Loudmouth**

yeah yeafh LISTEN

**Loudmouth**

so nsgjh i won’t give up on u!!! i’lk look the guybup!

**Loudmouth**

shit

**Loudmouth**

whats hise name agin

**Akira**

_You sent Loudmouth a picture._

**Akira**

Akagi Shigeru

**Loudmouth**

soundz like an anipe protag im on itttttt

**Loudmouth**

goodnight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Akira**

ohya its not even 5pm

He doesn’t get a reply so, naturally, he assumes she passed out. He chuckles and resumes his walk home, under Akechi’s scrutinizing glare.

* * *

It’s official, Akechi never hated someone as quickly as his dumb consultant. He broke the record, should he bring him a medal?

The day has ended, Kurusu wasted it all by meeting up with friends, flirting with bank employees and drinking his problems away.

What kind of problems could someone like him possibly have anyways? He might not even know the proper definition of the word “problem”, though Akechi can help with that, he’s sure.

He’ll be damned if this sorry excuse of a consultant will stay another day in this office. Either he transfers somewhere else or he has no future in the detective field. There is no other way, because Akechi decided so and if he did, then his wishes are _everyone's_ commands.

He's the Detective Prince, after all.

He looks at his lockscreen, buried under a flood of social media notifications that keep on coming. He doesn’t even bother to read any of them. It’s too late to go back to the office now, Kurusu wasted Akechi's own day too. He supposes he’ll just have to head to Jazz Jin like he does every evening, order the same cocktail, like he does every evening, and go back to his white, empty apartment that looks exactly like it did the day he moved in. Like he does every evening. 

Don't misunderstand. Goro Akechi lives the sweetest life of a prince, and he is all very grateful for that. He couldn’t possibly wish for more, he doesn’t _need_ more. 

His life is perfect. Nothing shorter than perfection, simply because he can’t settle for less.

He takes the opposite way home, thinking about the case files Kurusu took from the office. He knows that most of them (if not all) are plain boring, barely dangerous for the people and would result in too much paperwork. So why would he want to take responsibility for some of them? Everyone gladly throws their assigned cases on the unused desk after reading half of the first page of the files, free of paperwork and extra hours. What game is he playing? Does he want to play Mishima? Should Akechi actually keep him around and ask him for coffee every half hour?

The idea doesn’t sound half bad.

It’s with tired eyes and a fake smile that Akechi tightens his grip on his briefcase, heading to Kichichoji. He can’t even-

He can’t even believe that Kurusu didn’t notice him through the whole day. He made it a point to be as obvious as possible. He extended his reaction time, hiding behind walls a thousand times too late and he swears he caught his eyes more than once. Hell, he even camped in front of that filthy bar and was close to hitting the man.

Either he’s an incredible fool or he’s an incredible actor.

Akechi doesn’t want to think about the latter.

It’s 8:32 AM exactly when he meets Kurusu again. He passes right by him, just outside of the elevator doors. He shouts a rushed greeting and doesn’t bother to look at him before catching the elevator to exit the office.

He notices that the borrowed files are now back on the desk, a bit crumpled and messily scattered on it, but otherwise intact. Makoto Niijima is busy sorting them out and tidying up the whole area. The poor girl, doesn’t she know it’s a lost case?

He draws near, a happy tone already stuck in his throat, ready to break.

“Do you know where he’s heading?” He asks in his pleasant voice. She jumps at his presence and faces him, a bit tense. Good, he doesn’t like her either.

“He’s doing his job,” she replies in her own modulated tone., trying hard to look like she's not paying him any mind

He rolls away, sliding his briefcase onto his own desk and taking off his coat, his bright look still on. He needs coffee.

“Is he? I don’t know about you but I saw him meeting up with friends countless times yesterday. Wouldn’t call that _doing his job_.”

“And I saw him looking up clues and suspects, _I_ would call _that_ doing his job .”

“Would you, now?”

She tightly curls up her fingers resting on the desk, glaring at him.

“Yes. When someone doesn’t work the exact same way you do, Akechi-san, it doesn’t mean they’re wrong.”

“Funny you of all people should say that, Niijima-san. Tell me, when was the last time you solved a case?”

She sputters and he doesn’t bother sticking around to hear her answer. He doesn’t need to listen to her, or even acknowledge her, for that matter. He’s glad that her sister, compared to her, is a worthy colleague. He settles down on his chair and turns on his computer.

He, unlike some people, has actual work to do.

One hour in, he realizes he hadn’t got any coffee. He gets up, preventing a sigh from leaving his lips and moves towards the coffee machine. Mishima always hangs around it so he’s not surprised to find him there. He stutters as he offers to make him coffee and bring it to him. He ignores him with his ever so picture perfect smile and hits the buttons loud enough to startle the intern who thinks the best course of action is to mutter “sorry” and staring at his shoes. Once he’s got his coffee cup in hand, Akechi goes back to his chair and burns his lips once again. It’s a habit, at this point.

Two hours in, his empty eyes leave the computer screen, just for a while. He closes them for a bit, then blinks. Once, twice. Why the damn coffee didn’t kick in, he doesn’t know. He struggles to not look longingly at the machine again and fails. He turns his head to the left and doesn’t notice anything at first. The coffee machine still stands, like a mirage in a desert. 

It strikes him that his coffee addiction is growing dangerously, which might be a problem for his public image. He’ll try and rely more on make-up to hide the dark bags under his eyes.

Every button is there, accompanied by fancy labels and tiny pictures supposed to give you an idea of what you’re ordering. The real life product looks nothing like the picture, but that’s not surprising. No, what’s surprising is what he finally sees.

Well, what he _doesn’t see_ , actually. Mishima isn’t there. He takes a quick look around him. Sae-san is here, that’s for sure : he can discern her own familiar rustling of papers and muttering clues after clues. Other faces he barely remembers are here too, either diving into paperwork, or walking around the office in a never-ending racket. There are, however, no signs of the clumsy intern. Nor of Makoto Niijima, for that matter. They never associate nor work on anything together, so he doesn’t see why both of them should be missing.

Three hours in, Mishima and the younger Niijima decide to bless the office with their presence. This time, he was quite focused on his work, which springs his interest by the minute. He notices them only because of their huffing breaths and chuckles they think are discreet but are really not. He clenches his fingers around his fountain pen, in a show of infinite patience. He has to remind himself that he works _against_ murderers and not _with_ them.

It’s fine, he can tune them out. It’s not like Niijima’s desk is right in front of his, nor like Mishima gets back to his assigned coffee-boy spot. It’s not like they’re still grinning from across the floor. No, he tunes them out.

Four hours in, it’s lunch time. Usually, Akechi doesn’t care for lunch and grabs another coffee cup or simply ignores the break at all. But today isn’t usual, he reminds himself while stretching his arms and getting up. Today, by lunchtime, Kurusu is supposed to have resolved the robbery case. He hides his smirk by glancing at his shining shoes.

Someone’s going to get fired today. He doesn’t see him anywhere.

For once, he goes to the break room and hopes he can find something decent in the fridge. Surely, he has stored something in there.

Going in, he’s greeted with a garish note stuck on the fridge. He snatches it with knitted eyebrows. The penmanship is terrible and messy, barely decipherable but he manages to make it out. The message says something along the lines of “meet me at the interrogation room”. Signed _A.K_.

He snorts. He doubtlessly doesn’t want the meeting to be public, nor does he want everyone to witness his humiliation. Fine, Akechi will humor him since he's feeling pretty merciful today.

A private meeting in the interrogation room it is.

On his way there, he meets _yet again_ Mishima and Niijima which is so very suspicious. _Why_ in the world are they acting so oddly today? There are no reasons, absolutely _none_ , for them to mingle. Why, today of all days, did they decide to team up to annoy him?

He closes his eyes and breathes in.

Interrogation room. Focus on the interrogation room.

His fingers grasp the handle of the door and he enters. Kurusu is facing him, leaning against the opposite wall, looking as unbothered as ever. He made the wise choice to drop his bag on the ground and Akechi wonders if his cat ever left it.

“Kurusu-kun. I guess you asked for me to discuss the robbery case, right?” He questions in his honeyed tone.

It’s not a question, though.

“Yeah, actually. Wanted to show you something.”

His voice is low and quiet again, which highly contrasts with the side of him he witnessed the day before. _Wanting to show him something_ doesn’t sound like how someone breaks the news that they didn’t find anything. He frowns slightly ; what is he up to?

Instead of carrying on, Kurusu simply points towards his left with his head, not even bothering to shift his crossed arms. Akechi follows the movement. His eyes widen.

Three slouching kids, shoulders low with shame are seated in the other part of the room which allows them to be seen without their knowledge.

“Are they…?”

“Suspects? No, they’re the culprits. I found their leader while investigating. I was about to just take them for a small interrogation but the two others immediately confessed in exchange of a reduced sentence,” Kurusu straightens up and joins Akechi to observe the three men. He can feel the smugness radiate off of him. He grits his teeth.

"I suppose you're the one who suggested the reduced sentence," he replies flatly.

"I might be."

“And how are you going to do that, exactly?”

“Oh _please_ , detective. I never planned to.”

He turns towards him with a victorious grin.

“I look forward to working with you in the future, Detective Prince.”

He grabs his bag who replies with a yelp, adds in a curt bow, and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.

He should have assigned him a fucking murder case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It became a tradition to get rid of any case that doesn’t spark any interest a year or so ago.
> 
> And it all started with one pitiful case of vandalism. Nothing special in and of itself: someone simply had drawn… well, penises on some of their dispatch cars following some failures from the precinct.
> 
> The Phantom Thieves.

For their first case, Goro Akechi didn’t even blink. Detective wannabes have always existed and will never cease to exist.

The case, he hears, is an odd one. Settled into his comfortable chair, eternal cup of coffee in hand, he squints his eyes at the small television screen.

The presenter, a woman dressed elegantly, looking straight at the camera, narrates the facts. A burglar has been, for the past week, robbing old couples in a rich district. What they steal varies every single time: once it’s food, then it’s money, clothes, old family possessions that hold sentimental value, you name it.

The other singularity is that the criminal is incredibly violent: one of his victims caught them red-handed and their first reflex was to bash the victim’s head with a crowbar. They thankfully survived and sure, the thief’s goal was just to knock out any possible witness, but the fact remains that someone almost lost their life for such a superficial matter as a beginner’s mistake.

The presenter doesn’t bat an eye as she describes the gruesome details of what the poor victim went through. She advises every citizen to stay safe, lock their homes up carefully and reassures everyone with her empty voice that the police are on the case. She then proceeds to immediately drop the subject for the weather cast.

 _The police are on the case_. Oh, that’s cute. The police aren't exactly on the case because Akechi sees one of his nameless co-workers throw the file on the abandoned desk with his own two eyes. So much for assigning it to the best precinct.

He can’t really blame them, though. A case like this is boring at best and pathetic at worst. It’s crystal clear that whoever the burglar is, they are a beginner trying to gather enough money and necessities to survive on their own.

This time, he _won’t_ assign this case to his consultant. He learned his lesson and he won’t spend another one of his days following an idiot around all of the city just to be taken for the fool at the end of it. It’s either a murder case that gets him killed or nothing.

Kurusu spent these past ten days being awfully quiet. A silent shadow tagging along and imitating his every move. The first three days, out of pure spite, Akechi decided to ignore him. It almost worked.

But Akira Kurusu, being the perfect little newbie he is, charmed his way through the whole precinct. Now? Everyone talks about him and is eager to let his name roll off their tongue. “Haven’t you heard? The new consultant-” which is followed by some grand gesture he did, some of his college exploits. The man became a living legend in ten days, and that just because he’s a bit tall, has a low voice and knows he’s got good looks.

Goro Akechi isn’t jealous. See, he is taller than him, for starters. And who needs a low voice when the Detective Prince himself blesses you with his sweet and pleasant one? Furthermore, good looks are nothing in their field, even though Akechi is obviously more charismatic than this goof talking to his cat.

Has he mentioned he was taller? Because he most definitely is. He didn’t check, now that would be absurd. He would never stoop so low as to discreetly ascertain both of their heights, nor did he look him up and find his physical attributes, including his height. Akechi doesn’t have that kind of time to waste, unlike him.

He just knows so.

His eyes rove through their floor quick enough to perceive some movement on his right. Kurusu and Niijima were both chatting by the coffee machine (he, by some miracle, has been able to avoid them) but the new file added to the dumped pile caught her attention. She dropped Kurusu right there to attend to it. Somehow, during her stay in this office, she became the official ditched desk attendant.

It suits her.

He accompanies her and releases his hands from his pockets to help her make sure the piles are stable enough not to fall. Once they’re both satisfied with what the desk looks like, they lean against it and Kurusu swiftly grabs the new folder. Niijima scootches closer, most likely to study it with him. He can tell they’re muttering only because he sees their lips budge quickly, other than that they just look like two close colleagues reading the same paper.

Mishima breaks their bubble by wobbling towards them, holding a mug of coffee he’s visibly trying not to drop. The two part ways as Niijima closes the file and puts it back where she found it and Kurusu scolds the intern, reluctantly accepting the drink. It is a common fact that idiots orbit each other, so Akechi doesn’t even know why he’s paying them any attention.

He looks down at his own hands where he finds his plastic cup close to being empty. He hadn't realized he drank all of it already. He sighs discreetly and shuffles the paper scattered on his desk to find an ounce of courage and start working. He probably shouldn’t have pulled an all nighter on a weekday.

Nevertheless, he won’t complain. And he’s lucky Kurusu isn’t around to distract him anymore. It’s now or never if he wants to have a productive day.

Yet, he can’t help but think about this useless pile of cases more. He’s never really paid it any mind but here he is. If he’s not going to work, he might as well look like a model employee and dive his head into the morning paperwork.

It became a tradition to get rid of any case that doesn’t spark any interest a year or so ago. And it all started with one pitiful case of vandalism. Nothing special in and of itself: someone simply had drawn… well, penises on some of their dispatch cars following some failures from the precinct. The Phantom Thieves.

What had started as a classic act of teenage rebellion (because only teenagers are immature enough to do so after all… or at least he hopes) quickly expanded into some sort of a phenomenon. The following week, an impressive mural depicting grotesque-looking cops sprouted on the back of their building.

Some reinforcements quickly put an end to both the caricatures and the graffitis, and the case ended up there. Sitting on the creaking office chair, he scans a few of the files, his head in the clouds. He wonders what they’re up to now. Well, wonder is too strong of a word, really, he doesn’t care. Let’s not forget the fact that he’s aware of their social media that they keep updating rather regularly.

Sometimes it’s with inspirational posts claiming that every citizen can help other people out, sometimes it's with (un)helpful PSAs about being careful outside, and other times it's with penises.

They never got more cases open about them so he ponders how they got away with those. Did they clean them immediately after? Was it just for show? He supposes. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. They’re teenagers, they probably got scared off by the idea of a criminal record.

He focuses back on actual work when he feels Kurusu’s arm bump his shoulder. He makes it a point to shove his elbow in his consultant’s ribs before looking exaggeratedly shocked.

“I’m sorry, Kurusu-kun. I didn’t see you there.” He then doesn’t listen to what the man has to say and smiles apologetically before tightening his fingers around the fountain pen he’s been holding for a while now. A small black puddle has formed right by his wrist. He exhales slowly, then takes out another sheet of paper.

This day sure promises to be long.

And the awfully curious imbecile next to him isn’t helping in any way.

* * *

Akira might be looking an awful lot like a curious imbecile but if it annoys the detective, he won’t complain. He readjusts the bag hanging from his shoulder, pitying Mona for a total of five seconds before trying to peek at what Akechi is working on again.

And the answer is: nothing. Well, at least nothing interesting enough for Akira to force himself to stick around. The guy is literally glaring at a puddle of ink. What a dork. How he managed to earn the Detective Prince title is beyond Akira.

“Oh um, if I bother you I can always go,” he suggests, praying that Akechi won’t direct his glare towards him.

He directs his glare towards him. Great, great… Great.

“And where would you wander off to?”

Good question, detective. Good question.

“I can always observe Niijima-san. She’s working in the field today, which could help the both of us,” he explains, slouching under wine red eyes.

What Akira doesn’t say is that he’s definitely not planning to hang around Makoto today. He might have other plans, involving him getting fired if anyone finds out. Akechi doesn’t say anything and keeps looking at him so he takes it as an opportunity to continue.

“I’m off your back for today and I don’t have to watch you write paperwork all day long.”

“Trying to escape me already, Kurusu-kun? I’m not that unpleasant now, am I?” He asks with his cold unsettling smile. Akira can’t help but stare. He pauses for a long second, then buries his hands further into his pockets.

“I didn’t say that…” he mutters looking away, and he’s not lying. Well, he’s being half honest, if you will. Don’t get him wrong, he can clearly feel Akechi’s disdain towards him. Can he blame him? No. He _is_ trying his hardest to be infuriating.

But sometimes, observing him when he’s calm, reading through files or writing reports is soothing. He does have this kind of relaxing quiet presence when he’s not plastering a fake smile thinking he hides his clenched fist well. Spoiler alert, he doesn't. Akira’s glasses might be fake, but he can still notice the movement every time they’re chatting.

He clears his throat.

“No no, you’re not unpleasant. Actually you’re the most pleasant person-," What? No, that’s not what he meant-

Well, actually it _is_ exactly what he meant. What he didn’t mean is for this to roll off his tongue.

"...I've ever met,” he finishes lamely.

He can already feel Mona mocking him, safely tucked in his bag. He retaliates by shaking it hard enough to silence his sassy pet, who chokes in surprise. Serves him right.

He clears his throat once again, for good measure.

“The most pleasant person you met, huh,” Akechi turns towards him, his smile changing into a slight smirk. He joins his hands, rests his chin on them. He looks infinitely satisfied with the turn of this conversation, which Akira is _not_ okay with. “Do tell me more.”

“N-no?”

“Don’t be shy,” he adds with a bigger curl of lips. His voice floats in the air between them, ever so sweet, which would usually be enjoyable to Akira’s ears. Except now, his ears are red. This is great because at least his cheeks aren’t and his ears are covered by his messy strands of hair. This is _not_ great because… well, they’re red.

“I’m really not. It’s not what I meant, detective.”

“Oh, so you do think I don't make for good company?”

He fights the urge to facepalm. That’s what he gets for having a cute guy as his superior. A messed-up cute guy, sure, but a cute guy nonetheless. To his right, Mishima juggles with five cups of coffee.

“I- I have to go help Mishima. See ya!” He coughs out before bolting out of the conversation. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine. Cute detective wasn’t flirting with him, it’s cool. He's cool.

He looked cool, right?

He rushes towards the intern and relieves him from holding too many cups for only two hands. Mishima thanks him with a chuckle, bumping his shoulder with Akira’s. Akira bumps back.

He follows him to the desks where the promised drinks are supposed to be put on, one of them being Sae Niijima’s. She looks extremely motherly, her gaze so very patient, yet every other facial feature of hers is forcefully hardened to look more strict. It works, in his opinion, because he can’t help but focus on his shoes instead of her red intelligent eyes.

They both remind him of her younger sister and his detective. All three of them are terrifying and he would much rather get lost into Mishima’s black eyes, or Ann’s gentle blue ones.

Once all of the cups have been served, he doesn’t forget to hit Mishima in the head for acting more like a waiter than an intern. An intern is supposed to learn, watch, take notes and help out with… work. Mishima suggests then to help him with his paperwork which inevitably makes him sigh.

“Nevermind. Just- try to make less coffee and start…” Start what, exactly? His gaze lands on the abandoned desk. “Studying more cases.” Yeah, that sounds about right.

Mishima looks back at him, puzzled. It’s as if he never even thought about the idea of him doing _actual_ police work.

“If you want, when I get assigned another case, you can tag along!”

“Will Akechi-san be with you?”

He’s got his head on straight, at least. He’s asking the most important question.

“Hopefully not.” Hopefully yes.

Mean Detective is very entertaining when he’s trying to do the impossible and be kind to him. It makes him want to poke his arm all day until Akechi explodes and roars at him for being a waste of oxygen, throwing insults left and right.

Maybe he’s got a death wish. Maybe that’s his type. _Death_.

Ann would agree.

He parts with Mishima, waving at him. He waves back, his beaming face contorting into a pained frown a second later, when he hits a printer because he hasn’t paid attention to where he was walking. The intern reminds him of Ryuji for some reason. Although he’s a bit quieter, and a tad too shy.

So overall, he’s nothing like Ryuji.

… Nevermind.

Only when Akira’s finger mechanically pushes the elevator button does he realize that he’s now free to do whatever he wants. He didn’t even need to convince Akechi or lie to get out of the office. He just let him go. Teased his way into the conversation, that’s for sure, but he let Akira go without any more embarrassing questions.

Perhaps he’s got a good side to him after all. Perhaps he’s even growing fond of him.

The high-pitched ding announcing the elevator is able to cover his snort. Yeah, as if. Mean Detective will not become kind all of a sudden, not on his watch. He’s earned his nickname for a reason and Akira did not rant about him to his friends just for him to become a cuddly teddy bear. We wouldn’t want that.

He enters the elevator, patiently waiting for the doors to close. Either way, mean or kind, no Akechi is following his every move right now so it’s a win. He opens his bag and Morgana immediately pops out of it like a Jack in a box. Akira just boops him on the nose before reaching for the case file he grabbed when no one was looking. He smiles contentedly.

What Akechi doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Another ding makes Akira perk up before the doors split up in front of him. He takes a step out and skips his way out of the police station. He pulls his phone out of his pocket which results in his cat stabbing his shoulder with his claws. For a cat who knows about the “curiosity” saying, he sure doesn’t act like it. He pesters childishly in response and focuses back on his screen.

**Akira**

yo

i got us a caaaaaase

**Best girl**

!!!!!!

No way no way no way!!!!😳😳😳

**Akira**

yes way

wait ryuji why are you reading the texts

aren’t you at work

**Dum of a$$**

got a br8k witht he kidz

**Akira**

dude that’s not how the 8 thing works

**Dum of a$$**

wtv

u said new case bro!!!!!!

poggerz!!!!!

**Best girl**

Yeah it IS poggers!!!

**Akira**

ann stop texting for a sec mona is stabbing me rn

**Best girl**

Oh hi Morgana!! <3

**Akira**

sn,djuisuokdj aNN

please have mercy

that's it im bleeding to death

**Dum of a$$**

so ahts the case

**Akira**

geez that's cold dude

okay so think abt some burglar

who's like a terrible person

he steals from rich people

**Best girl**

Eat the rich.

**Akira**

except they’re like

old people

poor ol’ people

someone’s granparents

**Dum of a$$**

noooo i dont want my granma in this :(

**Best girl**

Don’t worry ryuji your grandma won’t be brought into this 😔

**Akira**

EXCEPT

the guy (or gal or non binary pal) is hella violent

and ruthless

like bashin someone’s head with a crowbar kinda ruthless

**Dum of a$$**

wdym violent

oh

**Best girl**

Oh…

Are you sure we should take this case Akira?

This isn't a matter of street art anymore

**Dum of a$$**

yeanman dya think its like

safe

**Akira**

oh absolutely not we might die in there but i mean

i dont care tbh

**Dum of a$$**

for real??

...yea sure lez go die

**Best girl**

Don’t!! Say it like that you two!!!!

Goal isn’t to die it’s to save people!!!🤧

**Dum of a$$**

ok lez go die savin pple

**Akira**

what he said

**Best girl**

I should be paid to hang out with you dorks

Btw

**Akira**

you love us

??

**Best girl**

I just noticed

Why isn’t Futaba here?

**Akira**

oh navi

yeah about that lmao 👉👈

i kinda don’t want her to be roped into this

As you could have easily guessed, Akira knows the Phantom Thieves. To add to that, he’s their very own leader.

As you could have also guessed, the Phantom Thieves may have started off as a group of dumb kids vandalizing police stations and precincts, but that’s not what they’re planning to be for the rest of their life.

No, today is the first day they take on a case. A real one. And they’ll bring the culprit to the police. They don’t know how yet, but they will.

**Best girl**

Wait what?

Wdym “roped into this”

**Dum of a$$**

u do know that we need her rite

**Best girl**

Uh yeah?? Futaba is constantly in trouble anyway what is it gonna change

**Akira**

ok lets meet up near the fair

u know the one by shibuya

like rn i got off work

**Best girl**

Hey don’t ignore us!!! 😡

He then proceeds to ignore them by hiding his phone in his pocket, Mona following the movement into the bag. He does know that Navi doesn’t care if she finds herself in trouble and he _also_ knows that she is very well often in trouble anyways.

However, this time it would be too much to handle. A dangerous criminal and the police are involved, none of them make for a good recipe.

Futaba is young, still in college, learning, and she has a family. He can’t let her risk to throw her life away for a passing fancy he and his friends have. It’s his responsibility to take care of her and it has been since the second he accidentally met her in Sojiro’s home.

He goes down the stairs that lead to the subway, quickly uses his pass and makes his way to the station.

He met her barely months after his first night in Leblanc’s cold attic. That evening Akira was left alone to take care of the cafe and the customers. It wasn’t really a problem for him, mostly because there were no customers and the place was spotless clean. So, really, he spent the evening lying on one of the booths’ comfortable couches, scrolling through his phone. Then, it hit him. He has barely seen Boss all day.

Boss didn’t really trust Akira back then. Though, can he blame him? He looked like the perfect delinquent: the silent type with unruly black hair and more black clothes than colorful ones. And everyone knows it’s always the quiet ones.

That’s why when Boss kept on closing shop himself months and months after he started living in Leblanc, Akira didn’t bat an eye. He too wouldn’t trust an eerie teenager with night tasks or the cash register.

But that day, Boss never came. He used to close shop at around 8PM, count all the bills, sternly advise Akira to not try anything funny and get home by 8:30.

The old clock had been about to strike 10 when he stood up in a heartbeat, hitting a corner of the table in the rush. He didn’t want to admit it (and still doesn’t want to now) but he grew worried. So naturally, he had grabbed his jacket, closed Leblanc with his sweaty palms and went looking for Sojiro.

Sojiro Sakura’s home, he’d learned when he had first visited Yongen-Jaya, was two streets away from his work. This would have come in extremely handy for a professional employee who could end up late sometimes. Boss, however, is a laid-back old man who chooses his own schedule. Pity.

He remembers that the cold winter air inherently slapped him in the face when he jogged to Sojiro’s house. The streets had been empty and intimidating, which he had been surprised about.

Some families took on the habit of taking night strolls often, some old people rested near their porch, listening to the radio. Some grocery shoppers came back late from the supermarket. The streets looking deserted didn't help calm his anxiety in any way.

When he arrived at the correct address he slowed down, breathing heavily, and looked around. There were still no neighbors to be seen. He wondered if it was his imagination or a terribly-timed coincidence.

There, the door was half-open, and instead of his strict newfound father figure, a deathly hush greeted him. It was like a horror movie, a stereotypical shiver ran down his spine. He gulped as he opened the door gently.

A shrilling scream vibrated through his body while he just stood there, his feet stuck to the pavement. Then, a loud thud which sent bright orange hair flying. They both blinked straight at each other.

And there you have it. Futaba Sakura in all her glory.

He sighs as he drops down on an empty seat, ignoring the robotic polite voice warning him about the closing doors. He slips his bag on his lap and rests his arms over it. Miraculously, his cat doesn’t complain which means he must have fallen asleep. Good, he needs the peace.

Turns out the day Sojiro didn’t go back to Leblanc was apparently the day that he started trusting him with the shop. A terrible idea, really, especially with how paranoid Akira became in his absence.

The first few weeks Futaba had been very awkward around him, yet not as suspicious as he expected. But that’s probably thanks to all of the bugs she set, hidden in the shadows of Leblanc. He guesses she adopted him way before he could have adopted her.

Anyways, where was he again? Oh, right. Futaba must not know about this.

The wagon rocks back and forth gently as it takes Akira from one station to the other. He tried his best to pay attention to each stop. Still, it’s getting harder and harder not to zone out.

Sure, they might need Futaba. Well, they most certainly _will_ need Futaba, but she’s not indispensable, right? He knows she loves playing sidekick and she can do that when she’s helping Kurusu the consultant or Akira the barista. She won’t when it’ll be a matter of Akira the Phantom Thief.

God, the name “Phantom Thief” sounds so edgy. It’s like something he could have chosen in middle school. Akechi is definitely suspecting kids to be behind the graffiti, instead of adults. He would put money on it.

For his defense, he didn’t choose the name. Mona did.

… Mona’s a cat.

Look, Ryuji, Ann and him were painting some penises, minding their own business, when their weird hungry friend asked them if they had thought of a name. Of course they hadn’t, they just wanted to make fun of cops and draw dicks. He then offered that they all suggest a fitting name.

Ann said _The Diamonds_ (very bright of her, he knows), Ryuji mentioned something out of a terrible action movie and he suggested _Akira’s Team_ because he’s the best and he deserves his name to be in the gang’s one. Of course, this landed him some hits from Ryuji’s elbow and two flicks from Ann’s slender fingers.

Yusuke was the one to submit the “Phantom Thieves” idea and since none of them knew what to choose (essentially because they all wanted to choose their own name), they put Mona on the ground and asked him to decide.

He immediately jumped towards Ann’s side. In retaliation, they forced Ann to hide in an alleyway not too far from them, considering there is _no way_ “The Diamonds” are drawing tiny penises with even tinier sunglasses.

With no Lady Ann in sight, he humphed and elegantly made his way towards Yusuke. Akira and Ryuji shared a heartbroken glance before accepting their defeat.

Futaba made fun of them when he got home and told her everything. Yusuke isn’t even one of them, yet _he_ got to be Mona’s favorite? That wasn’t fair.

“Shibuya, this is Shibuya station.”

He seizes his bag by the reeds and gets out of the train. He climbs the stairs leading him outside, taking in a long breath of fresh air. He coughs straight away.

March brought some warmness, but along with it came the allergies. He removes a tissue from its pack before stopping himself from blowing his nose. His eyes come to rest on a creperie stand.

He found his friends.

“Yo ‘Kira!” she exclaims instantly, jumping and gesticulating her arms to signal her presence. How she can be so active and full of energy while wearing high heels is beyond him. He strolls in their direction after sniffling for good measure.

“You got them allergies again?”

“Ryuji, every spring you ask that and every spring he’s going to say yes.”

"Hey we ain't in spring yet!"

They both turn towards him, waiting for him to reach them. Once his feet bump the blondes’, he pointedly nods at Ryuji, resulting in Ann huffing happily.

“So,” he starts, opening his bag to let Mona fall gracefully onto the pavement. Ann squats down to pet him while he looks for the case file. Almost there… almost there…

There you go.

“The case. Got it right here.”

“Awesome! Lemme see!” Ryuji hops closer to him and tramples on Mona’s tail. He squawks and hisses in response, no longer paying attention to Ann.

“Geez, watch out!”

She hits his hip with a flick of her hand, which makes him jump again. It doesn’t help the whole commotion that the passers by crash into them negligently every ten seconds or so. Mona is having a hard time avoiding threatening shoes that can walk all over him.

Maybe meeting up in front of a busy fair around the time where students are on holidays wasn't the brightest idea he’s had.

He blinks.

“Hey, let’s try the ferris wheel,” he offers to the old married couple who stop their petty argument at the sound of his voice.

“Huh?”

“Man I didn’t bring any money. I didn’t think we’d _actually_ try and have fun,” his friend sighs defeatedly, slouching just like he usually does. Ann rolls her eyes.

“It’s fine, I can cover for him. What’cha got?”

To be honest, he doesn’t really know. His pet could have swallowed some change he had engulfed under a ton of paper in his bag. That, and Navi could have totally stolen some of his money.

He shrugs and it’s Ann’s turn to sigh exasperatedly. She mutters something along the lines of “I should definitely get paid for this” and doesn’t add anything out loud. Instead, she just looks for a way to enter the fair.

With her long legs wearing those vertiginous high-heels and her intimidating gorgeous looks, people immediately get out of her way without her even asking. He peeks at Ryuji who raises his eyebrows at him. They pause and stare at each other for a bit before they both start to follow her, Morgana not too far behind.

***

The lack of noise surrounding them is dizzying. It takes Akira a hot minute to focus on what his friends are talking about.

“I still remember the money I lent you for your stupid dolphin!”

“What?! Dude that was middle school, why're you still bringin’ it up?”

“Because we graduated college and you _still_ haven't paid me back, that’s why,” Ann huffs out, crossing her arm and looking the other way. She looks just like a kid refusing to eat broccoli. Akira doesn’t know what to do except patting her gently on the shoulder.

The cabin is way more spacious than he expected. For an attraction designed specifically for the couples on dates, the distance between the two benches is infinite. Akira and Ann’s legs aren’t even close to colliding with Ryuji’s. He lets his eyes follow Ann’s frowny gaze and look at the window.

They’re gently reaching for the gray sky, threatening a downpour at any given second. The window panes are immaculate, he’s surprised he doesn’t notice a single stain on them, nor one speck of dust. Either they’re the first customers using this cabin today, or the cleaning staff is overqualified. He turns back to face Ryuji, prompting Ann to do the same. Mona eyes them suspiciously.

“What do you think of the case?”

Ryuji returns him the folder without being careful and crumples it a little. Akira prays silently for dear Makoto to not notice a thing as he accepts it back and puts it over his lap, seeing as his bag is sitting too far away from him.

“I mean- I can definitely see why you chose it.”

Oh he didn’t choose it. It was literally just right there.

He nods gravely.

“Have you got anything else? Like, clues or where to start?” Ann asks, sliding next to him to study the file thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I think I’ve actually got something.”

So, let’s get over the case one more time.

There are four different places that have been trashed by the burglar now. Out of the four of them, only one has seen blood get spilled onto the floor. None of the victims died, which could be considered… reassuring. One _had_ been injured pretty badly though, which could _not_ be considered reassuring at all.

The burglar kept the same M.O for every theft: they break in by forcing the doors, never going through the windows once. The locks are broken and Akira can only assume that they use a crowbar to get in. The crowbar they used hurriedly as a weapon. Which means…

“Which means that the guy wasn’t armed, right?” she suggests, glancing at him.

“Oh yeah! I get it, the dude didn’t prepare any weapon an’ he got all surprised and _BAM_ he hit ‘em with the crowbar thing!” he exclaims as he shakes his fists victoriously. Mona meows at him sternly.

“Yeah, like you said. Bam.”

What that could mean is that the criminal didn’t necessarily want to be violent. Then again, someone who doesn’t want to hurt people doesn’t usually go and bash their head repeatedly. The other possibility is that they didn’t even think they could be caught.

“Isn’t that… A bit too cocky of them? Talk about a confident guy,” she says.

“Exactly. What could make them become so confident?”

The only reply they offer him is a dull silence as the cabin starts its gentle descent. The whistle of the far away wind and his pet’s occasional yawning is all that can be heard.

“Hey, don’t look at us like that. It’s you who went through all that criminal shit.”

“Ryuji, you do know that criminology is also technically your major, right?”

“I skipped classes, it doesn’t count!”

He exhales loudly, grabbing their attention before they go off and bicker again.

“Practice. Practice is what naturally brings confidence.”

If you take Ann as an example, it’s clearly practice that offered her confidence which, in turn, brought her to thousands of modeling gigs and fame. Ryuji’s practice even after he broke his leg is what brought him the confidence to never give up his track dreams. Even Futaba can serve as a good example.

Practice. So they’ve got experience. And the good kind, since they were taken aback by getting caught. They practiced and succeeded so often that they couldn’t even fathom the thought of failing a theft.

Well that’s not good.

“Hey, Ann,” he begins before getting a quiet hum in response. “Can you check how much a crowbar usually costs?”

Her delicately traced eyebrows wrinkle at the request.

“It’s just because I work at the precinct so if they want to check my phone they _will_ check my phone."

He's greeted with silence. He sighs and settles on adding, "And I don’t trust Ryuji enough to look it up.”

“Hey!”

The small ego boost seems helpful since Ann is already pulling her phone out. Silence fills the cabin as they take off once more. Thin rain drops start falling from the sky, breaking the tranquility with the discreet sound of their collision against the window. It’s soothing. Akira closes his eyes.

He wonders if they should be doing this. Kawakami and Sojiro both always advised him to never count too much on other people. If he wants something, he should get it done himself. That’s also what Lala-chan always told him or else he’d end up as dependable as Ohya. Who is not, in fact, very dependable.

Though this time, this is extremely risky. He’s putting Ann and Ryuji’s careers and reputations on the line, which they need to remain pristine in their work environment. He’s endangering Sojiro’s sweet unproblematic little business, endangering Kawakami’s name and notoriety. All of it to play hero.

If you want something, you should get it done _yourself_ , not rope everybody close to you in.

“Prices range from 40 to 300 dollars.”

He aims his attention to his left, peering over her soft ponytail. His fingers reach for her hair and put it aside gently to be able to look at her screen. Ryuji rushes to their side, then slides next to Akira, tackling him so his eyes can reach Ann’s phone too. She ends up trapped between his warm gray coat and the biting-cold wall. She groans.

Her search displays a variety of wrecking-bars with very different costs. Some of them look affordable. Though their quality must be pitiful, and they definitely aren’t new nor unused. Others look way out of budget yet like a viable solution in the long-end.

“That’s not super helpful, is it?”

It is, actually. It is quite helpful. He breaks away from their weird group hug to get up. They lose their balance for a moment, startled by his sudden movement. He stretches his back and puts away the folder in his bag without any complaints from Morgana. He turns back to face them.

If someone is stealing valuable possessions from rich families, it must mean that they need the money. No one, nobody on this earth would steal and risk a prison sentence out of fun.

Though if said someone used the same crowbar for all of their heists _and_ shows signs of experience and skill, it must mean that the tool they’re using is still in good condition. Therefore…

“They have _got_ to have a super expensive tool!” Ryuji exclaims, pumping his fist in the air like he just pronounced a motivational speech to one of his kids.

“You’re an expensive tool.”

“Thanks!”

“That’s not a compliment, you idiot! I just called you a tool!”

“Yeah, but I’m super expensive!”

He can’t hide the smile making its way on his lips as he snorts.

“It’s either that or they have bought a new crowbar for each heist,” he adds, which he honestly doubts. It’s not profitable to them to keep on buying new material after each theft as they’d end up with no money at all in the end.

Ryuji and Ann agree with a nod. Their ferris wheel’s second turn ends on a peaceful landing contrasting with the rain pouring outside. They get out of the compartment and surprisingly enough, Ryuji is the one who thought ahead and brought an umbrella with him. All of them squeeze under their tiny shelter, trying to match the others’ pace to run and hide somewhere else.

They settle on grabbing a cheap lunch, mainly made of crepes, courtesy of Ann. At least he can pay for his own lunch, unlike Ryuji. She glares a bit less intensely at him for offering him the meal, since he sacrificed his shoulder for her to not get soaked under the clouds.

The smell of humidity and freshly watered grass graces Akira with an unexplainable sense of tranquility, as he takes a bite of his crepe. It doesn’t taste half-bad, even though Ann scrunches her nose in disappointment. He guesses this isn’t her favorite creperie. Knowing her, she has probably tasted almost all of what Tokyo has to offer in sweets. He’ll trust her judgement and will state, if asked, that he wouldn’t recommend this one.

“So d’you notice any’fin else, leader?”

He takes another bite, then a sip of the soda he ordered. Ryuji’s glass is already half empty, he notices when he meets his eyes. He takes another sip to match Ryuji’s tempo.

“Yes. Did you guys see what type of stuff they steal?”

They both pause what they were doing to stare him down with knitted eyebrows. Greasy sauce drips at a snail’s pace from Ryuji’s fingers. After a moment, they deepen their frowns and drop their shoulders, confused.

“You can’t really make a list of what they steal. It’s all over the place,” he explains, to which they agree vigorously. “What you _can_ notice, though, is what all heists have in common.”

He sets his plate aside, pushing it over to his friend who’s very eager to help him finish off his lunch. He takes out the folder once again, opens it at the lawsuit and accusations page to point out the stolen objects.

“First heist, they steal clothes. Second, they steal money. Third is when they steal food and fourth is a phone charger of all things. What all of those have in common,” he slides his finger over to the words he’s referring to, glancing at the blondes who are visibly hanging on his every syllable. ”Is that they are all old objects, antiques and relics that were in the victim’s families for generations and generations.” They hold more sentimental value than anything monetary.

“Wait, are those ol’ things expensive?” Ryuji asks after licking his fingers quickly.

Ann snatches the file from him and he lets her, mostly because he doesn’t want to fight with her right after she’s finished eating a disappointing lunch. The list of belongings in her hand, she scans it with her big blue eyes wrinkled in concentration.

“So obviously, there’s jewelry,” she enumerates without tearing her gaze away from the paper. “Some ceramic plates and vases, paintings, dolls, dusty books, chests that… apparently were empty. The list goes on.”

Futaba would have said that they maxed out their inventory.

Where would they possibly sell all of these if the criminal needs money? Three pairs of eyes light up in understanding.

“An antique shop!”

He smiles brightly. That’s it, that’s their first clue.

***

He huffs breathlessly and leans against the closest building. Mona meows plaintively and Ann puts all of her weight on his arm to rest over it. Akira feels like death. Ryuji feels fine.

It might be just about 4PM and they might have spent the whole day running around and skipping work like they skipped classes in high school. But it’s fine, that’s fine. They’re adults now, they’re all serious and have responsibilities and can be trusted with those. So it’s okay if all three of them missed a day of work, right? No one will give them detention.

They might get fired or their salary might suffer a severe cut but, _at least_ , they won’t get detention.

What they gathered, during their little errand, turned out to be extremely crucial. They spent the whole afternoon pinpointing a pattern in the burglar’s plan. They noticed that all of the victims live around the same calm, wealthy district. They never strike the same street twice nor the closest one to their last victim’s. They don’t strike the same floors either. They’re very careful and meticulous, so they must be clever.

But not clever enough to completely cover their tracks.

Their pattern, which at first glance appeared to be random and unpredictable, became ridiculously easy to foresee.

So, they don’t aim for the same street nor the next one? Akira is assured to find their next victim two streets away from their last one.

They also are a bit too perfectionist in the way they choose the floors. For now, they chose the 4th, the 8th, the 1st and the 3rd floors.

They will most likely choose a number they haven’t chosen yet. Akira’s bet is on the 5th one, while Ann’s is on the 2nd one. Ryuji mindlessly suggested the 9th floor and they both cracked their necks to glare daggers at him. He went silent immediately.

Last, but definitely not least, is the address. Now that they have the street, Ann pointed out that the burglar always goes from even to odd numbers in the addresses they pick. The last number was an odd one, therefore it’s almost guaranteed they’ll follow the same M.O. So an even number it is.

All of these deductions both helped determine who’s the potentially next victim _and_ the criminal’s profile. They’re definitely middle-aged, that’s for sure and certain. The way their brain works is too perfect, too much by the book and less random, even though they want to make it look that way. It is also without a doubt that both Akira and Ryuji agreed that they must have a child, probably a teenager.

It could add to their mobile. They might be stealing less for their sake and more for their kid’s. Akira thinks that he would be capable of doing that for Futaba. Even though, _of course_ , she’s not his daughter. He shudders at the thought. Imagining any of his friends, especially Futaba, as his children grants him a pounding headache.

“Wait… Just… Just a thought…” Ann struggles to say, still clinging to his arm like to a lifeboat (which it probably is, at this point). Morgana purrs at the sound of her voice in the empty street. He’s too tired to look back at her, so he lets his vision embrace the rough pavement under him and listens intently.

“Shouldn’t they… have, like… worn hands or injured fingers?”

He hums.

“I mean… wow, okay, wait a sec’...”

She gives up and her back slips slowly along the wall as she lets go of Akira’s sleeve. Ryuji pats her head once, then speaks in her stead.

“No, yeah, I see what she means. It’s somethin’ like, when you use your hands too much, well, they obviously get injured! Like blisters an’ all.”

"Well… I sure will… have those on my feet…"

He nods in understanding after straightening up and dusting his clothes off.

“So, a middle-aged person,” he recites, counting with his fingers after each clue, ”with an old crowbar, who’s a beginner, but _not really_ , who sells their bag to antique dealers. And now they have injured fingers. Yeah, I’m on board with that.”

Ann doesn’t bother adding anything else, she just raises her hand to give them a lamentable thumbs up.

“What do you think they do for a living anyway?”

“Wait, ya think they have a job? I just thought they didn’t and… that’s why they’re stealin’.”

“Well, unemployment _is_ a possibility but they only strike at night.” Sure, most of the thieves _do strike at night_ but... “I figured for some reason that they’ve got a day job that doesn’t pay well.”

The job lead may very well be fruitless, though it would explain the practice and confidence they got without any more illegal activities going on. If they indeed have a job, what would it be? It has to involve the use of tools and a crowbar, at the very least. Who would need a crowbar?

“A… gardener?”

The guys look at her, clueless.

“What?”

“Ann, I love you but have you ever _seen_ a gardener?”

She exhales heavily, frees a strand of her hair that got stuck in her earring before getting up.

“I don’t know. My dad used to take care of our garden all the time, and he had a crowbar?”

“Dude because your dad’s got a jimmy and loves gardenin’ doesn’t mean that he _uses_ it for that! What'cha gonna do with it? Dig up carrots?”

“Hey, I’m pretty sure you _can_ dig up carrots with a crowbar!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Ryuji snickers, his shoulders shaking under his old torn up jacket. She punches his arm lightly and defends herself by reminding them that the last time she actually saw her dad was before high school. He was about to go on a world tour with her mother and their company.

“On a cruise. Hella classy,” she adds on, bending her elbows to rest her hands on her hips. Her proud face, met with a roll of Ryuji’s eyes (accompanied with a muted “tch”), gives him an idea.

“A cruise,” he repeats after her. She croons softly in confirmation. “Guys, a cruise!”

His eyes blink quickly and excitedly as he grabs both of them by their shoulders. They’re shaken for a second, but then immediately focus their attention on him, waiting for him to carry on.

“There’s a big harbour in Tokyo, right?” He observes their reactions to see if he needs to say more. Ann gasps.

“Oh my God!”

Ryuji’s realization lights him up two seconds later.

“Bro you’re a genius! D’you think they’re a docker? Should we like, go there and ask people?”

His questions tone his excitement down. They’re legitimate questions he should be able to answer. First of all, going there will definitely take too much time to consider getting back home early enough. Will they even be able to talk to someone, or will they call them dumb kids and reject them? Wait, no, they’re not dumb kids anymore, they’re dumb _adults_.

Will they call them dumb adults and reject them?

Even supposing they don’t, who’s to say they’ll be able to find the right person? They have guessed their mindset, sure, but they have no clue as to how they look.

Even then, what if they’re not a docker after all?

“No, let’s just keep that info in mind,” he settles on telling them. Their nod is full of resolve, fists clenched. Mona purrs as he rubs his face between his and Ann’s legs. He kneels down to grab him and stow him away in his usual spot.

“So… what next?”

“We have two choices. Either guess the next victim and go there, or guess which antique leader they would go to next and wait,” he replies matter of factly.

“We haven’t questioned any of them though.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll work on it at the police station.”

They resume walking, looking out for the closest underground station.

“Let’s meet up in front of the fair tonight at nine.”

“You sure? There are a _ton_ of people there, man.”

"Yeah." That’s the point.

***

What the fuck.

The evening went quite well. He spent all of it window shopping, looking for any of the stolen objects at the most renowned antique dealers. He figured that if the person they’re looking for is middle-aged, they would just look up some good antique shops and go sell their stuff there.

One owner came on their own initiative to return some of the relics to the police. None of his coworkers have started any of the official steps to give them back to the victims, though. Makoto looked like she wanted to, but she retracted last minute. It’s not her case after all, who is she to take care of it? Akira can’t hold her accountable for that train of thought.

Even so, he hasn’t found a lot of the heirlooms listed to be missing. And out of the ones he miraculously noticed, he kept on hesitating and wondering if they were the actual objects he was looking for or simply similar items.

So, he chose to accept his fate and take a guess for the next antique shop they might show up to. It’s not that far-fetched of a guess, really, you should trust him with this. He just sighed and pointed to one of the most recommended shops that appeared on his phone screen and decided that that one would do.

He’s a responsible detective.

Overall, the evening didn’t really go quite well. But that’s okay, he at least found the time to drop by Leblanc, get some free coffee and curry and warn Sojiro that he couldn’t cover his shift tonight.

He ended up getting sternly scolded by his father, ruthlessly laughed at by his sister and paying for the curry.

He’s really not making it better, is he?

Well, this day, with all the exhaustion, twists and heartbreaks it brought, went quite _quite_ well compared to what he’s facing right now. Which isn't quite _quite_ good. Sojiro will have his head.

He’s in front of the fair, black hoodie on, glasses off. Ann and Ryuji also got the presence of mind to do the same on their own and came wearing way less flashy outfits than earlier. Ann’s got a beanie over her damp hair. It's obvious that she just got out of the shower, which would explain her great choice at wearing a hat. Blonde hair doesn’t go unnoticed in Japan. And Akira was glad he’d expected at least one of them to forget to hide their bright hair as he threw an old beanie of his to Ryuji.

The question you might be asking yourself right now is “what is the problem?” And it’s a very legitimate question, you deserve to know. The main problem, which Akira is trying really hard not to glare at, is this orange hair facing him.

Again, _what the fuck_ . He hadn’t planned any beanie for _her_.

He glances at Ann to prevent himself from goggling at Navi. She just knits her eyebrows in reply, she seems to be just as confused as him. He eyes Ryuji who immediately raises his hands in peace.

He grabs her wrist and pulls her into an almost empty backstreet. She doesn’t even dare complain or make a scene. _Good_. He’s not in the mood to be called a creep by passers by. His friends follow them reluctantly.

“Speak.”

“Hey… what’s up?”

He closes his eyes and inhales slowly, very slowly, to show her that he is not kidding.

“Why are you here?” He asks and crosses his arms, subconsciously opting for a defensive stance. She gulps audibly, then forces a reassuring smile to make its way on her lips.

“I came in peace?”

He doesn't say anything.

“Okay, fine,” she lets out in a huffy breath, looking away. “I may or may not have tapped your phone.”

She may or may not have _what_ , now?

He must be looking furious because he suddenly feels Ann’s firm grip over his arm. Futaba takes two steps back.

“I thought I told you to remove that bug.”

See, Futaba, being the anxious little gremlin she is, has bugged his phone the second she got a hold of it. He only noticed a year later, but didn’t really care. It just helped her know where he was and if she found some juicy stuff to use as blackmail against him, it counted as a bonus.

It didn’t bother him at all, he had nothing to hide (from her, at least). Except that with his new job came new rules and regulations. He specifically asked her to remove the bug from his phone and he thought she did. Because she deleted it right in front of his eyes, why wouldn’t he believe her?

“Look, technically I _did_ remove _that_ bug,” she tries to assert to him with confidence but he doesn’t flinch. Oh brother. He should have seen this coming. He should have known he had to exactly specify what he wanted from her. He just thought -hoped- that she would have gotten the memo.

“You never told me not to plant _another_ one,” she crosses her arms with a smirk. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten the memo.

The sight makes him feel what it must be like to be in Sojiro’s shoes.

He can only silently shudder at the thought of not one, but two idiots to take care of. No wonder why he didn’t let him tend to Leblanc the first few months. He already knew what type of kid Akira was. In fact, he had another one just like him at home. He thinks he might have just spoiled her a tad too much.

He might have just spoiled the both of them a tad too much.

“Also, I read your ‘leave Futaba out of this’ bullshit,” she accuses him while exaggeratedly imitating his voice to make it sound like a close-minded annoying old man. “And I'll have you know that I’m super useful!”

He knows.

“It’s dangerous, Futaba. The precinct doesn’t want any of our phones to be bugged, so firstly you could definitely get thrown in jail for this, and me with you. Secondly, you _idiot_ , haven’t you seen that the guy we’re looking for literally _bashes_ old people in the head?”

She doesn’t even blink, just closes her eyes and flicks her hand nonchalantly.

“Psht it’s fine. We’re not old people. If a grandma survived them, I think I’m cool.”

She’s… got a point. Still, she’s just a kid. A 23 year-old kid, but a kid nonetheless. A kid can’t just… face that.

She still hasn’t taken her exams.

“Besides,” she has the gall to add with a carefree expression plastered across her face. “You’re exaggerating and you know it.”

He might be exaggerating.

“I’m not exaggerating, I’m just worried Sojiro will kill me,” he replies weakly. Listen, he’s not _lying_. Boss knows how to be threatening.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t."

Kids these days.

He squints his eyes warily as Ann lets go of his arm. He breathes out, exasperated. She won, for now.

“We’ll talk about this at home.”

Besides, she’s already there with them. There’s not much he can do about it except not letting it go to waste.

The tension dissipates progressively, Ryuji lets out a relieved and loud sigh, and Futaba starts whining about how important she is as a party member and how he can’t just treat her like a kid forever. He shuts her up by throwing his sweatshirt at her and instructing her to pull the hood up. She huffs but does as he says.

He pushes her out of the alley, rolling his eyes. He distinguishes Ryuji and Ann sharing a faint conversation behind them.

“Since you’re here, whatcha got for us Navi?”

“Well, what’s your plan?”

He pauses and waits for them to be surrounded by the crowd of young people with enough energy to go to the fair at night. It strikes him that Futaba could be counted as one of them. So, like he said, a kid.

Ann and Ryuji stop chatting at the question, seemingly curious as to what he’s going to respond with.

“If they strike tonight,” which they most likely will, looking at their perfect pattern, “Ryuji and I will wait for them around their next victim’s place, Ann and you can go look for them at their next antique shop. Here, I saved the address,” he says as he drops his phone in Futaba’s palms which are covered by the long sleeves of his hoodie.

“Hey! I wanted to kick some ass today!” Ann retorts vehemently and if he didn’t know her, he’d think she was outraged.

“As much as I know you would have done a better job than any of us, I think you’re forgetting that if you’re the one who comes with me, we’ll end up having to explain why a poor shop owner got their arm broken,” he explains, looking pointedly at Ryuji.

“Hey, I’d try and make ‘em ‘fess up _gently_. Who'd you guys think I am?”

“No, no, Akira’s got a point there.”

“Ryuji, it’s not the antique dealer who has to ‘fess up. You know that, right?”

“ ‘t was just a way of talkin’-”

“You’re wrong,” Futaba interrupts them, breaking their little argument.

He turns towards her and tilts his head, confused.

“What do you mean, wrong?”

“You haven’t gotten the right address.”

He… did not expect that. If anything, he was just waiting for her to join in and find a witty insult to throw at Ryuji. Not anything to throw at _him_.

They start walking towards the direction of the street where the next victim awaits, unsuspecting. He hopes no one will lose their skull today, it would be quite unfortunate. He knows Sojiro would scold him if he came back to Leblanc with a broken cranium. He’d probably look into it and pretend he already knew there was nothing in it before throwing him an apron and commanding him to get to work.

“Okay, so when I learned about the case via your convos, I did my own little research. Turns out a ton of really unpopular antique dealers who are linked to a black market got the same stuff that’s been stolen," she explains with precise hand gestures to abstractly illustrate her point.

Akira blinks, Futaba blinks back, waiting for his reaction.

“Impossible.”

“Why would it be impossible?” Her voice cracks as she scrutinizes his eyes with dropped shoulders. The creases on his sweatshirt follow.

“The suspect we’re looking for is a boomer.”

The unexpected answer got her to snort.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, since you’ve been spying on us, you should know, Navi. They don’t really know how to be unpredictable, they’re too by the book.”

“It’s _because_ I’ve been spying on you that I know that you’re not going in the right direction.”

Ryuji pauses, startled.

“Wait, we’re not? Where are we walkin’, then?”

They all look fixedly at him, Akira can _feel_ Ann’s roll of eyes as she grabs his arm and drags him along.

“You guys think they have a kid, right?” Futaba chooses to ignore them and continues, looking for something through her phone.

It’s only speculation at this point. Most middle-aged people have a teenager by now but generalizing isn’t always helpful. They’re just lacking any other information. Though, if Navi is mentioning this conversation out of all of the others, it must mean she found something. He acknowledges her rhetorical question with an intrigued glance.

“Guess who found one teenage girl linked to both the stolen objects and the shady shops?”

He considers for half a second to buy Navi a medal before remembering that these aren’t the Olympics nor is she a dog.

He should get a dog, that would infuriate Mona.

“Apparently it’s the same girl who managed to find all of these dealers and she used the same fake name for every one of them. Noob,” she adds deplorably, like a disappointed parent.

“How do you know all that?”

“Hey I have my fair share of mystery too. I’m a woman of many talents, I’ve got contacts.”

“You’re a kid.”

“A woman.”

“A gremlin.”

“Same difference.”

Ann skids abruptly, making Ryuji who she hadn’t released yet bump into her with a groan.

“Wait. So, uh… where are we going exactly?”

Futaba looks back at her, showing off her phone smugly, and snickers.

“Don’t worry, I got it. We’re heading the same way as Ryuji and ‘Kira and then we’ll have to turn at some weird café-bakery thing.” Ann keeps staring at her, lips pressed in a thin line. “I got this, I got this.”

He catches her using her notes app, editing a wall of text that was already saved there. The air isn’t as cold as when it was raining earlier, yet her exhaling breath evaporates in puffy light clouds. She’s always been more sensible to cold than him, and he can barely survive winter, so that’s saying something. Between Winter, which freezes him to death, Spring which makes him sneeze to death and Summer, which makes him melt to death, he can rarely catch a break. This wasn’t a problem in his hometown. Either Tokyo sucks or being an alleyway doctor’s guinea pig for almost ten years wasn’t his smartest move. Probably both.

“Okay, I’m done. _Y_ ou guys are absolute dumbasses!” Navi quipped unexpectedly. Well, as unexpectedly as it could be. He already knows they’re dumbasses, big news; he’s just not aware of why she felt the need to say it.

“You do know that if you catch either the burglar or their kid you’ll have to talk to them, right.”

Not necessarily.

“Why would we need to talk to the suspect, it’s technically not my job,” he presses her, looking perplexed. She flings him an unimpressed expression she must have gotten straight from Boss. They look so much alike it distracts him for a moment; it sends him back to that time when he almost broke Sojiro’s favorite coffee machine.

“Don’t try and tell me that you didn’t plan to ask for their pronouns to prove your point from earlier.”

He hadn't planned to do that.

But he also hadn’t planned _not_ to do that.

“That’s outrageous. Moving on.”

“Uh huh.”

He patiently waits for her to respond to his query. Her eyes flutter in thought, then she hops in her recollection.

“Right, yeah. You guys are definitely talking to one of them and you didn’t strategize properly! Am I doing all the work here? Have you ever heard of voice changers?”

“Wait what’s wrong with our voi- oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” she repeats, impassive.

She puts a hand to her chin, striking a sarcastic thinking pose.

“Ryuji, you’re a coach, right? Correct me if i’m wrong, but you use your _voice_ when you speak to your kids.”

Ryuji tries to get in a word but gives up quickly and starts sulking, his hands diving in his pockets, head hiding in between his shoulders.

“Ann, you’re a model and even if we tell you to shut up and be pretty, I’m _pretty_ sure you talk to your stylists and photographers at least.”

Ann interjects loudly at the cutting remark but is quick to close her mouth again, settling on mumbling grumpily. His eyes focus on the pavement they’ve been walking on for some time, ready to get reprimanded by his little sister.

“And _you_.”

Oh boy.

“You’re a literal detective, man! What if you catch the guy and then they ask detective Akira to interrogate him, huh? What’cha gonna do then?”

“Jump off a bridge?”

“Yeah, checks out,” she heaves, dramatically lifting her gaze to the sky.

“With all that scolding, I get it you brought us a voice-changer?” He inquires. She shakes her head, unbothered, and focuses back on her phone.

“Nope. Couldn’t find a good one in just a day. That’ll teach you not to rope me into your life mistakes.”

He grits his teeth to prevent a sigh. Can someone please remind him to stop playing big brother? If she gets into trouble next time, he’ll be just happy to snitch on her to their dad and he won’t try to be helpful anymore. They finally reach the “café-bakery thing” Futaba had mentioned.

“So what?” Ryuji wonders with his disappointed booming, _terribly recognizable_ voice. “You just flexed on us but we ain’t gonna have anything? Don’t tell me that you don’t have a plan, man.”

“Yeah, I mean at least I’m not risking a lot but Akira over there is in big trouble,” Ann adds on, to which he replies by pointedly looking at her.

“I’m glad you asked. ‘Kira, Ann I just sent you a list of questions and stuff to ask both the girl and the thief. You guys will just be on a phone call the whole time and you’ll have to ask the questions simultaneously. So that way, you’ll just sound like this cool androgynous god-being thing.”

He checks his phone and soon enough, he receives a notification from her. He realizes that they haven’t texted at all today and stops himself from pinching his nose. He should have definitely found that suspicious. Navi always bothers him all day long so, spending the whole day without one stupid teasing from her means that she’s definitely up to no good.

He’s an idiot. He should have seen it coming, really. _My bad._

“But what if there’s a delay in the call? Or what if we have to reply to them?”

“If there’s a delay it’ll just sound cooler. And just say stuff like ‘I’m the one who asks questions here’ and it’ll be all good!”

She’s watched way too many shows for her own good. He laughs silently while the girls make sure they’re not forgetting anything.

“Where would you guys be without me?” Futaba ponders aloud.

“Dead in a ditch?”

“I was gonna say ‘in jail’, but that works too.”

* * *

What Akechi is taken aback by, though, is their Modus Operandi. And also, why the hell did little kids who painted penises on police cars decide that the next logical step in their grand plan to catch the public’s attention is to capture a low-cost beginner thief?

He’s minding his own business, really. Going to work, taking public transport like a common citizen, already sets every day of his off to a bad start. So when he bumps into some arrogant and loud blonde kid, he clenches his fist, gloved fingers tight around the handle of his briefcase.

“Oh, oops! Sorry, man!”

Akechi breathes heavily. “Man”. Who does this flashy kid think he is to call him _man?_ He scrunches his nose for a second before remembering he’s outside, surrounded by a crowd of people watching his every movement. They are not, technically, at the moment, yet he is persuaded that one wrong turn, one mistake, and all of his efforts, all of his work would end up in vain.

He’s not going to sacrifice more than ten years worth of climbing ranks for one lamentable delinquent. Fine. It’s fine. He’ll just be curt about this. It is but a trivial altercation anyways.

He turns around, flashing his most apologetic smile, only to realize the man is nowhere to be seen.

What? Is he… already gone? The nerves-

Alright.

It is quite convenient after all. He didn’t need to place a word, their encounter ended in a peaceful manner.

He’s incredibly grateful for taking on the habit to wear gloves because he is _convinced_ his joints are turning white with how intensely his fingers are hugging the handle.

He wonders why.

He slips whatever just happened into the back of his mind to continue his way to work. With his luck that doesn’t seem to match his greatness lately he will end up late. And by late, he means still early, but late enough to bump into colleagues he doesn’t want to do small talk with.

He avoids a misshaped puddle of muddy water on his way. It is still early March, it didn’t surprise him that yesterday’s weather had been hectic. He thankfully had tucked an umbrella in his brief-case, like the wise detective he is. What would the people say if Goro Akechi had been clumsy enough to forget an umbrella on a rainy day? They would have called him a clutz. A clutz is cute when you’re a teenager, a high schooler. Not when you’re 27 and a famous detective.

He takes a turn to finally bee line towards the police station where he notices two silhouettes that he, unfortunately, immediately recognizes. One of them is pretty tall (although it is indisputable that he is taller) wearing his eternal flowey winter coat and annoyingly torn bag. He is accompanied by the coffee boy who barely knows how to stand correctly next to him. Mishima swings and bobbles at their every step. Akechi sighs. It was funny to mock him from afar at first, but now this is becoming embarrassing. Can’t he get it together for once, in his pathetic, _sorry_ excuse of a life?

They both stop abruptly which makes Akechi do the same subconsciously. They’re not yet at the entrance, nor do they seem like they’re chatting or looking through their bags. Their backs are still facing him, they both stiffen and don’t dare to move.

What is it? Akechi joins them cautiously with knitted eyebrows he struggles to ease into a pleasant facial expression.

Once he’s at their level, he sees it too. His shoulders drop in surprise.

There, right in front of the public doors of their workplace, lies a short, bulky middle-aged man, tied with an old run down rope. He doesn’t seem harmed in any way, just a tad bit uncomfortable. That’s… quite understandable.

Is this a kidnapping victim returned to the police for some… odd reason? Was this a threat? What even is this?

He taps his consultant lightly to get his attention, inadvertently brushing his fingers against his neck. Kurusu jumps with a gasp. He wouldn’t have taken him for a ticklish man. He smiles amiably.

“What is going on here?” He asks with his gentlest of tones.

At the sound of his voice, the coffee boy freezes. Good, as he should.

Kurusu looks at him for a while before making a move towards the man on the ground and taking something off of him. Only now does Akechi notice that between two rounds of rope, a small business-like card was stuck. Kurusu examines it, surprised. He blinks several times, then silently hands it to him. Mishima changes sides and goes to stand to the consultant’s right, probably to avoid Akechi’s glare, who was between his two co-workers.

He accepts the card and studies it. Red and black with headache inducing patterns and an impersonal font, there are no fingerprints that he can see to the naked eye. It is seemingly impossible to link this card to someone.

He starts reading it, apprehending what information he will stumble upon.

_“Dear prestigious police station of Tokyo,_

_You have proved yourself to not deserve your citizens’ trust. For their sake, we shall take on your job and bring you the real culprits for you to imprison. We look forward to our little collaboration. All the evidence you need will be shortly sent to you by email._

_Yours truly,_

_The Phantom Thieves.”_

What the fuck.

His fingers shake in an admirable show of self-control, he tries not to squash the card, _the calling card_.

Those teenagers truly thought that the penises they drew again and again for months weren’t enough, huh?

It’s alright. Detective wannabes have always existed and will never cease to exist.

He should have expected it.

“Oh boy,” Mishima mumbles in a muffled voice. His heels whirl towards him. Kurusu in-between them quietly takes the intern’s phone to show him the screen. The Phantom Thieves’ social media has been updated today with one new post. This new post is not, in fact, a PSA nor a new obscene graffiti.

It’s a picture of the suspect they apprehended, accompanied with a shot of their calling card.

“The press will have a field day with this, I’m sure,” mutters Kurusu thoughtfully, as he returns his belonging to Mishima.

All three of them stand there, not daring to move further. The man in front of them doesn’t budge either, he looks surprisingly docile for a criminal. He just accepted his fate, head dropped towards the sidewalk, wallowing in self-pity. Trash.

_SUKI SUKI DAISUKI_

_DOKI DOKI TOMALANAINO_

Mishima’s back becomes rigid, Akechi’s sure that he is in the same state. Kurusu doesn’t seem to mind.

_KOKOTONZAI HOSHIMO_

_NO WA HITOTSU_

The criminal doesn’t even perk up, his eyes still roving through the tiny imperfections of the ground below him. How Akechi wishes to be this lost in thoughts right this moment.

_KIMI NO HATOYO_

The ridiculous music kicks off with a catchy instrumental, to which the owner of the ringtone just bobs his head discreetly to it. The smile on Akechi’s mouth threatens to turn into a rictus. Is he doing it on purpose?

“Won’t you take that?”

“No, I’m cool. I like my ringtone.”

He keeps glaring at him with his lips still forcibly curled. He must have conveyed enough annoyance to scare him off, because his next answer is “I will take that right away. Please take care of them.” before disappearing into an empty street, perpendicular to the station. It only leaves Mishima and Akechi to take out the trash.

“Would you mind helping me, Mishima-kun?” He pleads courteously.

After a nod, he immediately hops towards the suspect to rise them up, forgetting that his legs are tied also. All of the man’s weight comes crashing down on the skinny intern who falls on the pavement, trapped under him.

Fucking hell.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come talk to me on twitter and instagram as @jazzily_!


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